


Calm in the cooler

by FicFanFun



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Boys Kissing, Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Erections, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Male Slash, Mutual Masturbation, Panic Attacks, Stalag 13, Tender Sex, The Author Regrets Nothing, We need more NewBeau, the cooler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23345104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FicFanFun/pseuds/FicFanFun
Summary: It is the place where Newkirk’s fears nearly conquer him, where LeBeau bravely fights back the dark for him, and where they can be alone, together, and make love. It is the only place.
Relationships: Peter Newkirk/Louis LeBeau
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

Out there, he is sarcastic and defensive. But confident. Always confident.

In here, he is anxious. He feels the walls closing in, he says.

”Hogan should have us out of here by now,” he mumbles. “What’s taking him so long?”

”He’s working on it. He’s always working on it,” I tell him. One of us must be calm.

He’s pacing. He’s worse than Hogan when he’s worried. Back and forth, back and forth.

”Yes, well he’s got to work faster, hasn’t he? Otherwise we’re going to be here all night. Or for days.”

”Two weeks, Klink said. But he was showing off for Hochstetter. It won’t be more than a week. Hopefully less.”

”A week? I can’t take a bloody week!” He rattles the door. “Oy! Who’s guarding us? Schultzie?”

”Shut up,” comes a brusque reply. It sounds like Freitag. He’s a bastard. 

“Impressive how quickly they learn English,” Newkirk mutters.

“Stop pacing. Sit by me.” I pat the bunk where I’m sitting.

Newkirk looks but shakes his head. “Not now, Louis. I’m not in the mood.”

”Not that,” I assure him. We’ll get to that eventually. When it's dark and the guards are gone, we can each make a fist to relax. But not now. “Just sit. Rest.”

He paces a little longer, leans his head into the stone wall, breathes hard, then comes to sit by me.

”It will be all right. It’s always all right,” I say to him. I drape my arm around his shoulder.

He moves closer. He grips my hand.

”One hundred fifty,” he says.

”One hundred fifty what?” I ask.

”Nights in the cooler. This makes one hundred fifty.”

”You’ve been counting.”

”Yes.” He winces. 

“That’s a lot of nights.”

”Mostly alone. I’m glad you’re here.”

Out there, he is sarcastic and defensive. But calm. Fairly calm.

In here, he is sweet and needy. He is falling apart.

He leans into me. He’s big for me, but somehow I hug him to me.

”Tighter,” he says. He’s big for me— who isn’t? But he’s not that heavy. This part, I can do. 

“Close your eyes. There’s a good boy.”

”Don't go. Hold me.”

”Where would I possibly go? And even if I could I would stay here. Someone has to look after you, you idiot.”

Out there, he is sarcastic and defensive. Headstrong and tough. Always tough.

In here, he is scared. He is my responsibility.

Out there, he is sarcastic and defensive. He needs no one.

In here, he is shaking. He needs me.

I am strong and patient. I can see us through another cold, dark night. I can see us through anything. I hold him close.

In here, he lets me.


	2. Chapter 2

Fifteen minutes. He has cried himself out. 

His head is in my lap. His eyes are red. His nose is runny. He is gulping.

”That’s better,” I say. “You just panic sometimes. But it always passes.” I am rubbing his chest.

”Yes. It does,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

”It’s nothing.”

He is shaking his head. “No. It’s everything.” He pauses. “Can we stay like this?”

”I’m comfortable.” I pause. “Is there anything you want?”

“Not right now,” he says, closing his eyes. He guides my hand to his lowest ribs. “Rub there.”

This relaxes him. “Too firm?”

”Just right.”

The touch makes him sleepy. The pressure calm the fear inside. He drifts. I am happy just to hold him.


	3. Chapter 3

A rattle at the door. It creaks open. Schultz lets Hogan in to see us. 

“Five minutes, Colonel Hogan,” Schultz says.

”Ten,” Hogan replies. He doesn’t even look at him as he palms off a chocolate bar.

His eyes are on us. Newkirk is asleep, head on my lap, sweaty, his chest heaving a little as he breathes.

He crouches down, looks at Newkirk, gently lays a hand on his shoulder and then looks at me in concern.

”What happened? Is he hurt?”

”He’ll be all right, Mon Colonel. I think you call it, um, panic attack.”

”Claustrophobia...”

”Not exactly. It's not any small space. Just this one. Seeing these walls again is just a bit much for him. It’s hard for him to breathe. At least they put us in here together.”

”You’re a good friend, LeBeau.” Now his hand is clutching my arm, a squeeze silently sending me strength. I smile back. He is a good officer, the best I have known.

Newkirk begins to stir. Both of us shift our hands. “Pressure,” I tell Hogan as his broad hand lands on Newkirk’s ribs. “That is what calms him. Lean in with the base of your palm and knead, like you are making bread.”

”Me? Make bread?” Hogan laughs. But he does as I suggest. My hand cups Newkirk’s cheek, my thumb stroking him firmly, and he is breathing deeply again

”There. He is calm.”

”Take good care of him, LeBeau,” Hogan smiles as he stands. “I’ll have you out tomorrow.” He reaches into his jacket, then puts down two chocolate bars beside me, lookin apologetic. “Hershey’s,” he says. “Sorry.” His voice is soft. “He’s spent a lot of time in here.”

”One hundred fifty,” I say, looking down at the man whose head I’m holding. I look up at Hogan. “Nights,” I say.

Hogan nods. “He’s been counting.”


	4. Chapter 4

Hogan leaves, saying nothing about how I am holding Pierre.

I look down and wonder. Had I met him in another time and place, would I have noticed him? He's a rascal, a troublemaker, un gavroche.

Foul-mouthed, tough, and shrouded in cigarette smoke.

I think I might have passed him by. Too crude, too rude, too English.

But it's a crazy war. I stroke his hair as he sleeps. As much as he loves me, he might break my arm for that if he was awake.

Yes, loves me. We know, without saying it, the strength of our feelings for one another. There is no acceptable way to speak of it, so we don't.

Here in the dark, as he sleeps, I can whisper it. I can think it. He can dream it.

He is certainly dreaming of something, because he's pitching a tent.

I think he is dreaming of me. Who would he dream of, but the person who holds and comforts him?

I gently stroke him through his trousers and he sighs deeply. This, I feel, is for me.


	5. Chapter 5

Here in the cooler, late at night, we have been together side by side. We have helped one another along.

Nowhere else. And nothing more. There can be nothing more.

In the silence of the dark, we have found one another. We have kissed. We have tasted. .

Out there, such a touch is unthinkable. In here, it passes the time.

In here, a touch gives us comfort and binds us together. 

Out there, it would kill us.

In here, late at night, we have freedom. We can be what we are. We can press our bodies together

Out there, any time, it is always prison. Even when we break free, we are lashed to convention. We can’t go far or free. We must return to our chains.

In here, when he is anxious and feels the walls closing in, my touch transfuses him.

He can sleep because I am strong. 

He can rest because I hold him.

He can dream because I caress him.

He can feel release, because I quicken him.

His panic subsides because I am here.

In here, we are lovers. He is mine. I am his. We alone know of our passion. 

Out there, we are friends. I am his. He is mine. Everyone knows we look after one another. No one sees anything more. Nothing is said. Nothing can be said.

We know.

We know what we are to one another.

And that is enough. It has to be.   
  



End file.
